


I Must Confess

by SaskiaK



Series: America’s Suitehearts [4]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Arrest, Betrayal, F/M, Framed, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaskiaK/pseuds/SaskiaK
Summary: Sequel to You're A LegendIn Carousel, Nightmares are being brought into The Waking World, but who is responsible? When Dr Benzedrine is blamed for a crime he didn't commit there really are only 4 people to turn to...





	1. A Serious Problem or Two

“Majesty?” Lord Joshua’s aide, Ambrose, questioned as he stood in the doorway to his sparsely furnished office.  
“Ambrose,” Joshua looked up, distractedly, pausing for a few moments before seeming to remember why he had called him. “Would you ask Marcus to join me, please?”  
“Is everything all right, My Lord?” Ambrose queried. “I mean, it’s rare for you to…”

Joshua raised his eyes without moving his head, offering what appeared to be a harsh glare.

“I’ll deliver the message at once,” Ambrose nodded before turning swiftly on his heels.  
“Ambrose,” Joshua called, keeping his voice purposely soft. Waiting for his aide to turn he nodded. “Something is wrong. How wrong, I’m not yet sure but I need to speak to Marcus.”  
“Yes, sir, I’ll see to it personally,” Ambrose replied, grateful for the explanation, however brief.  
“And then Lord Robert,” Joshua sighed. “On reflection, I think The Captain of The Guard ought to be here too, but I’ll see him after I’ve spoken to Marcus.”  
“Yes, My Lord,” Ambrose nodded with some concern in his eyes. He knew, as aide, that Lord Joshua had no secrets from him, but from experience, he knew that the man rarely reacted without all available facts. Something was definitely troubling him but the faster he could relay the messages, hopefully the faster any problem could be resolved.

As Ambrose left for the Guardhouse, Joshua sighed heavily. The news was bad enough without this extra detail and despite the report suggesting otherwise, he found himself surprisingly troubled.

*

Marcus waved a hand over the avstandball, setting it back to standby mode. As the glass slowly darkened he exhaled deeply. It had been an unusually long night. As a rule he would normally expect no more than two calls in an evening and frequently none at all. Most of his sandmen were very experienced, with a hundred or more years as sandmen and perhaps two or more hundred years as either a dream weaver or spinner before that. There were less experienced sandmen too, of course, but they rarely worked alone. But for all their training, things still went wrong and in those rare occurrences, they called on Marcus for assistance. Some issues simply required someone with more experience but many of the problems either had to be officially logged or were the sole responsibility of the Governor of The Dream World.

This night, no fewer than seven sandmen across Carousel had called on him to assist them. There had been three people who simply couldn’t sleep as somehow their link to their local sandman had failed and they were no longer able to receive the command to sleep. Two people had fallen into too deep a sleep and had to be brought back to a normal sleep state. To partially rouse them, Marcus would typically administer a few light bursts of electricity, which crackled from his fingertips. It was usually enough to reestablish their sleep pattern and thankfully this was no exception. Lastly, two children were experiencing the most horrific nightmares and both required the use of a Dream Memory Bottle to remove both the nightmare and the memory of it. Most of the time it was due to a faulty dream warping inside the mind of a particularly creative child, but on this occasion, both had been the fault of the local sandman being careless. In addition to removing the offending nightmares and replacing them with happy, gentle dreams, Marcus, already angry by the unusually excessive demands on his time, was further irritated by the need to formally reprimand the negligent sandman.

About to make himself a pot of koppte, Marcus heaved another deep sigh at the light rapping at his door. Standing stiffly, he stared blankly for a moment before heading to answer the second knock. Opening the door, he forced a faint smile; standing before him was his father’s aide.

“Ambrose,” he began with strained cheerfulness as he stood back to allow the man to enter. “Please come in.”

It was a difficult situation for the sandman. Having only recently apologised to Ambrose for his rudeness, abrasiveness and for all the difficulties he had caused him over many years, Marcus still felt quite awkward around him. He had meant every word of his apology, but he felt it was probably too little, too late and was left with no clue as to whether Ambrose could find it in him to forgive. Now here he was, at his door for the first time since the apology and Marcus’s general bad mood and irritability was making it practically impossible to be pleasant.

_Perhaps, he mused, an explanation was required?_

“I’m sorry, Ambrose,” he took a deep breath. “It’s been an unusually long night and…” he was lost for words as to how to explain.  
“You’re tired?” Ambrose completed with, Marcus thought, an edge to his tone. “Highness.”  
“No, of course not,” Marcus sighed. “I’m fine. What can I do for you?” he asked with a forced but reasonably convincing smile.  
“Lord Joshua wishes to see you, Highness,” Ambrose replied smoothly.  
“Now?” Marcus frowned. It was late; something had to be wrong. “Is he okay?”  
“He seems well, Highness, but something is troubling him.”  
“Thank you, Ambrose,” Marcus snatched up his coat. “Of course, I’ll go to him at once. Would you mind redirecting my avstandball to his office, please? There is still a chance I’ll get another call tonight.”  
“You’ve been busy, Highness?” Ambrose asked almost conversationally as he approached the avstandball.

Marcus turned back to look at the aide, still uncertain of his tone.

“I’ve had to slow time twice,” he replied with a frown.  
“I didn’t realise,” Ambrose looked back at Marcus, still his expression was unreadable.  
“Good,” Marcus nodded. “That means I’m doing it right.”

There wasn’t time for further conversation, but Marcus was distracted by a combination of concern over his father’s request and Ambrose’s attitude towards him. It seemed clear to him that the aide wasn’t going to forgive easily.

Stepping outside, Marcus looked around, suddenly almost distracted by his surroundings. He still hadn’t managed to grow accustomed to the new lighting he was experimenting with in The Dream World. For as long as he could remember The Dream World had hung in a permanent twilight state but since his reconciliation with Spicy and their son, William, he had found himself craving changes in his day-to-day existence. The Dream World lighting had been one of the first things to change. It was by no means bright sunshine, but it was at least daylight and he found himself smiling in appreciation. He knew Spicy liked it and William always seemed more awake and alert when it was brighter. He loved his son. He loved both mother and son. They had completed his world and his mood had lightened with his surroundings but now it seemed that a cloud hung over him as he considered what problems awaited him at the palace.

“Highness?” A voice came from behind. “Is something wrong?”  
“No, Ambrose, I’m on my way,” Marcus replied as he constructed a locational portal centred on his father’s position – by far the quickest and easiest way to reach him. “Would you like to use the portal too?”  
“No, My Lord, I’m not heading back to the palace just yet.”  
“Oh, okay,” Marcus responded absently to the cryptic reply.

In front of the concerned sandman standing alone and unaided was a large mahogany doorway with an imposing brass handle, gleaming even without sunlight. Opening the door and stepping through, Marcus found himself in the much darker and subdued surroundings of the Counsel Chamber. Raising an eyebrow in surprise, the sandman headed toward his father who was looking out over the gardens, obviously deep in thought.

“Not in your office, father?” Marcus smiled. “It’s not serious then?”  
“It’s very serious,” Joshua turned a bleak expression towards his son. “I would go so far as to suggest grave.”  
“Grave?” Marcus frowned deeply as he joined his father at the window. “What’s happened? Is it mother? Silas?”

Marcus couldn’t help but notice the slight twitch in his father’s cheek at the question, which only served to heighten his concern.

“Father? What’s wrong?”  
“It might be nothing. Marcus have you had any problems with any of your sandmen recently?”

Marcus’s blood ran cold. Was there another attempt on the throne happening right under his nose – again? His heart pounded in his chest at the very thought and all his unguarded fears flooded into the room.

“No, Marcus, nothing like that,” Joshua reassured him. “At least, I don’t believe so. I had a report from the Benzedrine at Eddoo River.”  
“Elise?”  
“You know her?”  
“We’ve… clashed,” Marcus shrugged.  
“Clashed?” Joshua raised an eyebrow.  
“She’s ambitious and she thinks Silas passed her over for promotion to the position at Geban Loch.”  
“Did he?”  
“Are you kidding?” Marcus scoffed. “Being fair isn’t a obligation for Silas, it’s an obsession! If she was the best Benzedrine for the job, she would have got it.”  
“But she wasn’t?” Joshua pressed.  
“No, Santiago was,” Marcus confirmed with a brief nod.  
“What’s her reasoning?”  
“For what?”  
“Why does she believe she was passed over?”  
“It’s not that she thinks she’s better than Santiago or even more qualified, because she isn’t, but she thinks that Si is prejudiced because she comes from Eddoo.”  
“Ah,” Joshua nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I can’t decide whether that’s reasonable or not.”  
“You honestly think Silas is prejudiced?” Marcus asked with incredulity.  
“No, well…” he paused. “No, not really.”  
“Not at all!” Marcus corrected forcefully.  
“You’ve got to understand something about Eddoo,” Joshua began, carefully choosing his phrasing. “It’s not absolutely everyone, obviously,” he continued, “but many of the people from Eddoo seem to have what I would describe as moral manoeuvrability, but they have double standards and resent anyone who challenges them on it. However, it’s not just that,” Joshua sighed.  
“If you’re going to suggest that Silas is holding an entire district to account for the actions of one man, then that’s ridiculous.”  
“Is it?” Joshua pressed. “Francis Renderer tried to kill you all and take away the woman who is now Silas’s wife. Are you absolutely certain, Marcus?”  
“Si’s not like that,” Marcus insisted defiantly. “You know he isn’t.”  
“Yes,” Joshua nodded. “I’m sorry to have pressed the matter. I just wanted to be certain of your view.”  
“But you are worried?”  
“I am,” Joshua admitted.  
“What’s happened? How does it affect Silas?” Marcus asked, his voice tightening as he spoke. “How does affect my sandmen?”  
“I’ve had a report that a nightmare escaped to The Waking World.”  
“But… That’s not possible,” Marcus shook his head.  
“It happened,” Joshua insisted. “The real question, is how?”

Opening his mouth to speak, the sandman paused before suggesting that a nightmare couldn’t escape unaided. If he had uttered those words, he knew he was virtually pointing the finger squarely at Silas. His brother was the only one with the power to perform such a task, though why he would was a mystery. The only thing stopping him, and making him feel justified in doing so, was the memory that his own personal nightmares had escaped into The Dream World’s Mareritt Forest without any assistance. A faulty dream could potentially be possible. Some sort of outside influence was a possibility, perhaps? It was barely likely, but it was plausible.

“I have had some problems tonight with a negligent sandman. Perhaps he was more at fault than I thought? Or maybe he used a faulty dream? I need to look into it to be certain.”  
“Please do, Marcus. At the moment, this has been raised with me privately, but you know this woman; she’s unlikely to let it go for long. She has an axe to grind with Silas and I don’t want it any sharper than it already is. Do you understand?”  
“I do, father.” Marcus nodded. “Whatever’s happening… I mean, really happening, I’ll find out.”  
“Thank you,” Joshua nodded. “Not a word to Silas about this, okay?”  
“Of course,” Marcus agreed with a short nod. “Is he still on his Introduction Tour?”  
“Yes,” Joshua smiled reflectively. “Honeymoon over, back to work with a bump.”  
“But he’s trained for it,” Marcus shrugged. “If I feel for anyone, it’s Laura.”  
“Yes, but… you know she’s stronger than you think.”

Marcus tilted his head as he stared at his father.

“What do you mean?”  
“Exactly what I said,” Joshua shrugged. “You don’t survive two years on a slave ship without hardening in some way.” Taking a deep breath, Joshua placed a hand on his son’s shoulder; that one gesture indicating more about the depth of his concern than any words. “Find out what’s happening, Marcus. I am worried.”

*

It was a long walk down the brickwork tunnel back to The Dream World, but Marcus wanted time to think. He had been a Sandman for over half his life; trained from a young age by the previous Governor of The Dream World he had more experience than almost anyone else in matters of dreams and nightmares and yet this had him baffled. He had found it unusual enough that nightmares had escaped from his own mind, but at least that had been found to be drug induced. This? Well, this was very different. A nightmare had escaped in Eddoo River. There could only be, to his experience a small number of possibilities – another sandman could have been drugged in the same way, a faulty dream placed in an inanimate object or a corpse by a grossly negligent sandman had found its way out but neither seemed likely. The only other possibility was simply unthinkable – Silas had deliberately brought it through into The Waking World. It was simply impossible to do that sort of thing by accident and it weighed heavily on his mind.

Lost in thought, the walk through the dimly lit tunnel suddenly seemed so much shorter. With barely enough time to even list the possibilities in his mind, he found himself nearing the end of his journey home. It was only when he heard the slightest ghost of a sound that he jerked his head up, suddenly alert and suspicious. Ahead of him he could see the tunnel mouth that led to The Dream World. Instantly, he realised that something was wrong and but it was a few moments of stressed confusion before he realised exactly what.

As he stood contemplating the scene, he stared at the darkening sky with the first few stars beginning to blink at him in the twilight. The low mist hanging at ankle height and the deep throaty call of an ugle bird seemed at the same time familiar and yet somehow out of place. It was only then that he realised that he had changed the lighting in The Dream World. In celebration of his new life with Spicy and their son, he had brightened everything. It was by no means as dazzling as in The Hills, but the sun shone and the Sotdrom Forest was filled with a myriad of daytime creatures enjoying the warmth and light. But now, somehow, between leaving for the palace less than an hour earlier, it had reverted to its previous state. Edging slowly forward, Marcus cast his mind back, trying to think of what could possibly have happened. His only recollection was of asking Ambrose to redirect his avstandball to the palace. Certainly nothing he could have done could have caused the lighting to revert to dusk. There was only one possibility – someone was there.

_But who? And how had they done this? A rogue sandman? Surely not? Was it possible?_

Cautiously stepping forward the last few paces, Marcus reached the mouth of the tunnel and, pressing his back to the wall for protection, he peered out. Less than twenty feet away, near the entrance to the cemetery, he could see a man, possibly six or seven years older than his apparent age, stretched out on a reclining chair and reading a book. Marcus frowned in confusion; he didn’t recognise the man, he certainly didn’t work for him, nor did he have any clue as to why he might be there. Was he waiting for him? But it still didn’t explain the lighting change. There really was only one course of action. Striding forward from the tunnel, Marcus approached the man who only looked up when he was within a few feet.

“Who are you?” Marcus asked, trying hard to keep his tone even.  
“I’m Governor Sandman,” the man replied indignantly, apparently surprised to be asked. “Who are you?”  
“What?” Marcus gasped in surprise. “ _I’m_ Governor Sandman,” he corrected. “Again, who are you?”

The man closed his book slowly and rose to his feet, all the while eyeing Marcus with suspicion.

“You look like Alexander,” he frowned. “Are you one of his sons? Well? Are you Edgar or Joshua?”  
“Alexander?” Marcus replied hesitantly, now deeply confused.  
“Yes,” the man growled harshly. “Former Ruler Alexander. Did you come here expecting to find the previous Governor? Looking for an ally were you? He resigned… suddenly,” he added with a sneer.

The situation was bizarre. Could the man really be talking about his grandfather as if he were still alive? Asking him if he were his son certainly seemed to suggest as much, but how was it even possible? Whatever was happening, Marcus knew one thing, he had to get back to The Hills. The man was clearly threatening, if only in his behaviour if not his actual words.

“Well now?” the man began again with a smirk; his next question settling the argument raging in Marcus’s perplexed mind. “Have we finally located one of our cowardly missing princes?”  
“No… I’m…” Marcus took a step back, pausing as he heard another sound behind him.

Turning sharply, he saw three Guardsmen closing on him.

“Arrest him!” the man shouted. “He’s Alexander’s son!”

Raising a hand, he made an intricate symbol designed to hold back the men reaching for him as he ran back toward the tunnel. Crying out in surprise as his powers refused work, Marcus was forced to shrug off his coat in an attempt to escape their grasp. With a determined grunt, he pulled free and ran for the tunnel once more. Racing as fast as he could, all he could do was pray he would pass the centre of the tunnel before they had a chance to release the safety mechanism. If the barred gate were to fall before he reached it, he would be trapped.

“After him, you fools!”

The desperate sounding shout pushed the terrified sandman to run even harder. To his relief, it sounded as though this other Governor had no knowledge of the safety gate midway along the tunnel but the man’s next words that came to him, now faintly, as he ran confirmed the impossible.

“You let him get away and Ruler Owen will have your heads!”

Breathing hard, Marcus ran with every ounce of strength he possessed, stopping only when he reached the centre of the tunnel. Reaching up, he paused, momentarily puzzled by the missing controls for the gate that separated the two districts. It was yet more confirmation that he had somehow been thrown into the past, but how could it even be possible? With no more time to think about it, Marcus found himself slammed with vicious force into the tunnel wall. Dazed, he sank to the floor, turning as he did. Looking up, he briefly stared at two of each of his attackers, as they moved in and out of focus.

“You shouldn’t have stopped running,” the lead man sneered as he raised a long dagger threateningly. “From the age of you, I’m guessing you’re Edgar and I’m looking forward to collecting…”

The man’s heartless words were cut short as one of the other men spun him around and, without warning, pushed a knife deep into his heart. Watching as the man sank to his knees, the second man nodded with satisfaction as the first collapsed without a word.

“Highness,” the Guard addressed Marcus respectfully as he helped the still dazed sandman to his feet. “Why did you risk it? It’s not safe here, you must return to your family at once.”  
“I don’t understand,” Marcus shook his head. “Who do you think I am?”  
“His Highness, The Lord Edgar,” the Guard replied appearing almost as puzzled as Marcus.  
“No, I…”  
“Go!” the other Guard whispered as he turned his head sharply. “He’s coming, you have to hide. Get back to your family, wherever they are.”

A quick glance up the tunnel only to see the silhouette of the Governor Sandman approaching was all Marcus needed to give him the impetus to set off once more, but with nowhere to go and somehow trapped in the past, he was at a loss to know what to do and who he could trust. Could he even trust the two men he had just spoken to? Had they released him purely to follow him and discover the family’s whereabouts? If so, they were going to be sorely disappointed – he had no idea what to do or where to go.

As he raced out of the tunnel into the almost blinding daylight of The Hills, Marcus pulled up sharply as the scene ahead shocked him more even than the situation he had left in The Dream World. It seemed that the whole district was gathered in the town square outside the palace, which now looked much smaller than he was accustomed to. The incessant buzz of noise from the throng of people assaulted his ear drums and clouded his ability to think clearly.

“Quick!” A man’s voice hissed at his side before he was dragged into the crowd. “Do you want to be killed?”  
“What?” Marcus turned defensively only to realise that the man had no threatening ulterior motive and seemed to be genuinely trying to help. “What’s happening? Why is everyone here?”  
“Where have you been?” The man replied, genuinely bemused by the question. “Ruler Owen has ordered everyone to the square.”  
“Ruler Owen?” Marcus repeated bleakly.  
“Yes,” the man nodded forlornly. “I think…”

The man’s voice hitched as he tried to speak and Marcus’s eyes widened as he sensed a genuine feeling of distress in the man’s tone. Suddenly with a sense of what was to happen, he glanced quickly around.

“I’ve got to stop him!”  
“You can’t!” the man gasped. “He’ll kill you! Don’t you realise what he’s capable of?”

Marcus frowned deeply. Owen had killed his grandfather, almost certainly at this moment, in front of this crowd of people, possibly as a warning to them all. He had imprisoned Mister Crab inside an almost inescapable dream. He had destroyed the harmony amongst the districts and almost crushed several of them with extreme poverty. He had tortured, maimed and killed to achieve his aims. Yes, Marcus knew exactly what he was capable of and more than most he had a reason to prevent him.

“Yes, I do know and that’s exactly why I have to stop him,” the sandman replied quietly.  
“I think you’re too late for this,” the man replied in an equally hushed tone.  
“Citizens of The Hills!” A voice boomed out over loudspeakers. “I have gathered you here to watch justice meted out to a criminal and a pretender. Alexander is a traitor to Carousel as is his entire family.”  
“No!” Marcus cried, horrified by the statement. “Owen’s the traitor! He’s a murdering…”

The words died on his lips as he found himself sinking suddenly to the floor, groaning as he clutched at the back of his head.

“You want to get us all killed?” a voice hissed above him.  
“You will all witness Alexander’s execution,” the voice continued, oblivious to the sandman’s objections, “and when we find the remainder of his cowardly family, you will watch their executions too! It will serve as a reminder that treachery will not be tolerated under the new regime.”

Marcus struggled to get back to his feet, only to be forced down once more, inwardly cursing that all his powers appeared to have left him. A minimum of five men crowded around him, pinning him down by their sheer proximity.

“How can you allow this? Let me go!” Marcus shouted bitterly. “Alexander is the rightful ruler! He’s a good man!”

A well-placed kick to the back of his head sent Marcus spiralling into unconsciousness. There was a part of him that would have felt almost relieved at not having to witness the execution of his grandfather but as he sank lower into oblivion, he feared what he would wake to and in whose hands he would find himself.


	2. Proving innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Silas and Marcus have to prove themselves, but can they?

“Joshua?” Eleanor opened tentatively as she entered their suite of apartments.

She couldn’t help but notice that the lights were turned up as bright as they would go – a rare occurrence. She preferred a softer, gentler lighting in their rooms; it seemed to help calm her husband’s spirits after a stressful or trying day. But now, the lights were bright and in their harsh light she could see his pale and worried expression. As he turned to face her, the anxiety in his eyes only seemed to deepen.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice still hushed.

Taking a deep breath, Joshua motioned for Eleanor to join him on the couch. Perching beside him, she neither seemed settled nor comfortable as she waited stiffly for him to explain what was troubling him. After an uneasy pause, Eleanor pressed the question again.

“Josh, tell me what’s wrong.”

Responding to his wife’s strained tone, Joshua took her hand in his, offering a kind nod and an obviously forced calm expression.

“Ellie, the escaped nightmares were captured.”  
“Nightmares?” Eleanor’s brow creased with a combination of surprise and concern. “More than one?”  
“One in Eddoo, one in Sefnor,” Joshua replied grimly as he rose to his feet.  
“Did they do a lot of damage?” she asked, concerned that there had been more loss of life.  
“No,” Joshua shook his head. “They got to them quite quickly and thankfully they weren’t roamers.”  
“Then, what?”  
“They’ve been examined,” he sighed with the weight of a mountain on his shoulders, “and we know who released them.”  
“Wait… Eddoo? Sefnor? No!” Eleanor insisted firmly. “No! They’re stops on Silas’s tour. If you’re even going to suggest that he…”  
“It’s his signature Ellie. I don’t like it any more than you do…” Shaking his head he pressed his hands against the mantel of the imposing white marble fireplace and his gaze fell briefly on the family portraits hanging to his right, the sight of which made him feel increasingly wretched and miserable.  
“You don’t like it, but you do believe it?” Eleanor snapped in an accusing tone.  
“I… I don’t know what to believe.” His shoulders sagged still further as he turned back to face his wife, now standing beside him. “What can I do when all the evidence points to him?”  
“What can you do?” Eleanor’s eyes widened. “You look in here,” she added placing a palm gently over his heart. “You’re not the Captain of The Guard any more. You’re his father, you know him, you know he wouldn’t do this!”  
“But a signature can’t be faked,” he argued with a lacklustre tone.  
“That we know of,” Eleanor countered. “You’re his father! You know he didn’t do it.”  
“And I’m Ruler and my duty was clear,” he replied with a resigned sigh.  
“Was?” his wife’s eyes widened as she realised the worst. “What have you done?”  
“I had to Ellie! I had no choice! Would you rather Robert had done it? Because that was my only choice!”  
“Of course not,” Eleanor moved closer still to her husband for her own comfort, but also to offer her own support. “We have to prove his innocence. You… You do believe he’s innocent, don’t you?”  
“Of course, I do!” he responded without a moment’s hesitation. “But that’s not enough, is it?”  
“No,” Eleanor replied solemnly. “I suppose if he’s in custody, then it’ll soon be proved its not him.”  
“Unless whoever framed him knows he’s been arrested.”  
“How would they…?” Eleanor paused as the idea sank in. “Someone at Court?”  
“It’s possible,” Joshua frowned. “I can’t rule it out, but if it’s true, then I’m even more worried.”  
“Does Marcus know?” Eleanor asked gently.  
“In a manner of speaking,” he sighed as he began to pace once more. More than ever, Eleanor could see the similarities between father and son.  
“What does that mean?”  
“It means I’ve asked him to find out what’s really going on.”  
“Then you don’t believe it?” Eleanor replied, her voice weak with relief.  
“Of course not, but if someone is trying to frame him and I don’t know who I can trust, then Marcus is the only one I can go to.” Joshua stopped pacing. “He will get to the bottom of this, Ellie, I know he will.”  
“Before you’re forced to conduct a trial? Pass sentence?”

Joshua turned a bleak, almost helpless expression towards his wife.

“He has to. Anyway, I have to go and speak to Robert.”

Eleanor drew her lips into a thin line as she considered her next question. Almost hesitant to ask, she wondered if she had made a grave mistake.

“Did I…? Would you rather I hadn’t made you give up the Captaincy?”

Offering has wife a smile and the comfort of a strong, yet tender embrace he took a deep breath as he couched his reply.

“My dearest Ellie, as strong as you are, you couldn’t have made me give up the Captaincy if I hadn’t wanted to. It was the right thing to do at the time and…” He raised a finger as she motioned to object. “And it remains so.”  
“But now you and Robert will be in conflict.”  
“Much better that I’m in conflict with him, than with myself. Don’t you think?”  
“Let me come with you,” Eleanor offered. “I want to hear his arguments for myself.”  
“I will tell you everything, I’ll keep nothing back, I promise.”  
“No, I…”  
“No, I need you to comfort Laura. She returned secretly and she’s in their private apartments. The story as far as anyone else is concerned is that Laura is ill and both have returned from their tour to seek medical attention.”  
“We’re not going to be able to keep this a secret for long though, are we?”  
“No, probably not, but I am keeping it as contained as possible. The speed and nature of the leak will help me establish who I can and can’t trust.”  
“What about Donnie? Have you told him?”  
“No, not yet.”  
“You don’t think you can trust Donnie?” Eleanor gasped. “Joshua!”  
“I didn’t say that, I just haven’t told him yet. You had to be first. I’ll speak to him on my way to see Robert. I want him to help Marcus.”  
“What about Spicy?”  
“That’s more difficult,” he sighed. “As a Spymaster she has a conflict of interests. I’ll discuss her position with Robert. I imagine he’ll suspend her temporarily.”  
“She won’t like that,” Eleanor shook her head, imagining the young woman’s reaction to the news.  
“Maybe not, but it will mean she can help us to find who framed Silas instead of trying to convict him.”  
“You’ve thought this through,” Eleanor gave a broad smile.  
“This is one occasion where I’m hoping that Robert isn’t quite so good at his job to see that coming.”  
“You have the advantage of experience.”  
“Yes, but he has every Guardsman and Spymaster at his disposal. The question is, how far will he try to look?”  
“Robert knows him, he…”  
“He’s obliged to consider evidence and only that.”  
“But…”  
“He may be sympathetic, Ellie, but what can he do?”  
“He can do his job!” Eleanor replied forcefully.  
“He will,” Joshua cupped her cheek, his expression a mixture of love and deep pride. “Make no mistake, he will do that.”

*

Pain was the first sensation that Marcus felt. A blinding white pain that threatened to split his head in two. Barely awake, the sound of choking filled his ears and it was a moment or two before he realised that he was making the sounds. Trying desperately to swallow, or even breath steadily, Marcus retched against the gag pulled deep into his mouth.

“Take that off him!”  
“No! He’ll shout for help.”  
“He’ll be dead if you don’t! Can’t you see he’s choking?”  
“So what if he does? He’s one of Owen’s men, anyway.”  
“We don’t know that!”

Feeling hands on him, Marcus pulled sharply away, more out of reflex than of any real knowledge of what was happening to him.

“Hold still!” The voice growled with irritation.

As the cloth was eased from his mouth, Marcus continued to cough and retch. Now, half seated, half slumped, tears sprang to his eyes with pain and disorientation. Only then did he realise that he was unable to move either his hands or his feet. Even with blurry vision, he could make out two people standing over him and one still kneeling at his side.

“Who are you?” he croaked, the pain following each word limiting both his questions and his volume.  
“That’s our question.” One of the men standing over him snapped.

Marcus frowned as he tried to gather his wits. The blows to his head had left him reeling. Trembling, disorientated and in pain, he stared through a blurry haze, his mouth parched, his skin pale.

“You still think he’s a threat?”

_So, the other shape was a woman?_

“Get him some water,” she ordered. “And a pharmacier.”  
“I want answers first,” the other shape standing barked.  
“You’ll get nothing if we don’t take care of him,” the man at his side replied with surprising kindness. “If it’s even vaguely possible that it’s him, how can behave like that?”  
“Because I know it isn’t!”  
“You don’t know anything!”  
“It doesn’t matter!” the woman shouted, making Marcus cringe as the sheer volume caused the sounds to ricochet inside his ears.  
“I don’t know who you think I am,” Marcus struggled to push the words out, “but I guarantee you, I’m not him.”  
“You don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” the woman replied softly, an eyebrow raised at the surprisingly frank answer.  
“No, but it’s the truth,” Marcus sighed as finally the pain began to settle into a dull ache. “I don’t know who you are or what you want. What else can I do but tell you the truth?”  
“He’s convincing, I’ll give him that,” the man at his side commented.  
“People only ever say that when they think someone’s lying,” Marcus retorted.  
“Well, aren’t you?” the woman asked. “What do you want?”  
“I want to know where I am, who you are and what you want from me!”  
“We’ll start with you,” she replied evenly. “Name?”  
“If you don’t know who I am, then why am I here?”

As Marcus’s pitch rose, so did the level of throbbing in his head. Slumping forward, he found himself only remaining upright by the strong hands holding him.

“Even if he isn’t,” the man began, addressing his words to the woman. “He looks so much like him. We can use him.”  
“Only if he isn’t one of Owen’s spies,” she replied curtly.  
“Madam,” a softly spoken man joined them. “May I ask that the prisoner is moved to somewhere more comfortable to recover? I can’t treat him here.”  
“Of course,” she nodded. “Take him to my chambers, four guards and he is to remain bound.”  
“My Lady, I can’t…”  
“Do your best Reuben and don’t allow his resemblance to His Highness to sway you, he could easily be working for Owen.”  
“Owen killed my family!” Marcus snapped; his anger bubbling over, despite his confusion and nausea.  
“And who might they be?” she pressed at the response.

Biting his lip, Marcus remained silent. What could he say? Owen killed his grandfather, His Majesty, Ruler Alexander. That he was from more than thirty thousand years in the future? Perhaps what was gnawing at him even more than the uncertainty and impossibility of his situation were the references to Edgar. They had referred to him as a prince, as Joshua’s brother. It made him Marcus’s uncle and heir to the throne, but until this point he had never once heard his name. How had his father, Joshua, come to the throne? Had Edgar been killed? If he had the chance to save him, should he? Would he irreparably damage the future? Risk his own existence? But if he did, how could he be here now? How could he anyway?

Marcus groaned. He had studied spatial and temporal paradoxes but had always struggled to appreciate the complex looped logic. It was much more the sort of thing that had always fascinated Silas and he had left him to it, choosing to concentrate more on politics and dream studies. He did, however, remember arguing with his tutor that as it was purely hypothetical it was, in turn, irrelevant. How wrong he had been.

“Take him to my chambers, treat him and let me know when his is sufficiently recovered to talk.”

Marcus felt his chin lifted and he was forced to look into her eyes, and was surprised to see a kindness behind the stony glare.

“We will talk, or rather, you will talk and I will decide your fate. Consider your responses carefully. I have power over your life or death. Do you understand?”  
“Yes,” Marcus whispered, uncertain if he could risk that she might be bluffing. Even as the thought crossed his mind, she smiled, almost as if he had spoken his fears aloud.  
“Tell me the moment he is recovered.”  
“Of course, My Lady.”

*

The room was cold. Not unpleasantly so, but enough to suggest the sterile chill of a doctor’s surgery. Marcus had felt a similar ambiance on each visit to his brother’s office and, as a result, was feeling unexpectedly settled and relaxed in the strange environment. Despite the familiar temperature, the room had a makeshift feel about it and suddenly several of the comments and his treatment were starting to make sense. Above all, the pharmacier’s recent ministration had almost miraculously cleared his head and was finally allowing both coherent thought and considerably less nausea.

“So, are you going to tell me your name?”  
“Are you going to untie me?” Marcus retorted, staring up at the pharmacier from his position on the uncomfortable and largely unpadded gurney.  
“You’re feeling better already, I see,” the man smiled in return as he replaced the jar containing a viscous lime green liquid back on the shelf.  
“Yes,” Marcus admitted reluctantly. “What is that?”  
“Veskepene,” he replied, turning back. “Do you know it?”  
“Maybe,” Marcus replied with uncertainty, drawing an amused but unthreatening smile from the pharmacier for his reticence. “How did I get here?” he added.  
“Do you know where here is?”  
“Of course I don’t,” Marcus scowled. “As a pharmacier I would expect you to be able to tell when someone’s unconscious. Or did they skip that part of your training?”  
“You’re not asking where you are or why you’re here? Or even who we are? Interesting.”  
“Not interesting at all,” Marcus replied with a mildly clipped tone. “I know who you are, you’re part of The Resistance.” Marcus lowered his eyes. “You won’t succeed.”  
“So, you are working for Owen?” the pharmacier spat in a disgusted tone; his manner turning suddenly aggressive.  
“No,” Marcus shook his head without glancing up. “I just know. Believe me, I wish it wasn’t true.”  
“Really? And how do you know? You can tell me now, before we kill you,” he added snidely.  
“You really want to know?” Marcus looked up, staring directly into the man’s eyes. “Really? Okay, I’ll tell you. I’m Marcus, the eldest son of His Majesty, The Lord Joshua.”  
“His Highness is a boy and not Ruler. His brother Edgar is the heir. You’ll have to try harder than that.”  
“He will be Ruler, he will marry Eleanor of Althaea, he will repair the damage done by Owen and Governor Sandman, he will restore Carousel to its former glory and he will have two sons, Marcus and Silas.”  
“And you’re Marcus, are you?”  
“I am.”  
“So, you’re from the future?”  
“Yes,” Marcus replied quietly; barely believing it himself.  
“Yeah, sure,” he scoffed. “Who are you?”  
“Didn’t that woman say she wanted to see me as soon as I was well enough?” Marcus snapped in return; frustrated by his lack of progress. “Well, I’m well enough!”  
“That woman? That woman!” the pharmacier spluttered, his shock transforming slowly into anger. “Don’t you know who you’re talking about, so disrespectfully?”  
“Obviously not,” Marcus growled. “So, who is she?”  
“She is The Consort of His Majesty Alexander, she is Her Majesty, The Lady Madeleine.”  
“The Lady Madeleine?” Marcus gasped in surprise. “But… That’s not possible. She died in childbirth with my fa… With His Highness, The Lord Joshua.”  
“You’ll have to do better than that, future boy!” the pharmacier laughed.  
“You have doctors here, don’t you?” Marcus bristled at the insult. “Check my DNA! You’ll find me related to the Royal House and when you do you can apologise for your behaviour!”  
“I highly doubt it,” the man rolled his eyes. “But, very well, we will test you and when the results show you to be a fraud and a charlatan, we’ll kill you.”  
“For a healer, you seem a little too keen to kill me.”  
“I don’t like you and I don’t trust you.”  
“You wouldn’t be related to anyone called Ambrose Stolt would you?” Marcus quipped with a disapproving sneer, expecting only a look of puzzlement for a reply.  
“Stolt?” A look of fierce rage settled suddenly on the pharmacier’s face.  
“What?” Marcus’s eyes widened. How was it possible that this man from more than thirty thousand years in the past could know his father’s aide? “You must be thinking about a different man!” He tried to explain. “I told you, I’m not from this time. How can you possibly…?”

Marcus paused as he noticed the pharmacier begin to fill a syringe with a white, cloudy liquid.

“What is that? What are you doing?”

Now standing at his side and glowering with an expression that went beyond fury, the pharmacier grabbed Marcus’s arm roughly and plunged the needle deep into the flesh.

“I knew you were working for Owen!”  
“No!” Marcus cried as the man depressed the plunger. “What… What is that? What have you done?”  
“Traitor! You know the penalty for treason!”  
“No!” the Sandman’s voice was already weakening.

Marcus’s vision was failing and a deathly cold gripped him as he slumped, no longer able to support himself. Collapsing back onto the gurney, he lay perfectly still. Stepping back, the pharmacier silently disposed of the syringe and closed his bag, snapping it shut with an air of satisfaction.

“So, one of Stolt’s spies?” The pharmacier mused before pausing to open his bag once more. Taking out a second syringe, he turned back; a harsh expression fixed on his face.

*

“Laura,” Eleanor’s tired voice addressed the locked door once more, “as Consort, I could demand entry.”  
“But you won’t, will you?” Laura called back. Despite the phrasing, her tone was certain of the answer.  
“I’m worried about you, Laura. I suggest you don’t test your theory.”

Inside the luxurious suite of apartments, Laura turned to face the door. Eleanor’s voice had sounded equally determined and if Laura knew anything about her, it was that she rarely bluffed.

“Laura?” she pressed; her tone somehow sounding simultaneously clipped and gentle. “Please, let me in.”

Laura sighed. There was an underlying tone now discernible in Eleanor’s voice; she was worried, she was exhausted, but most of all, she was scared. Stepping forward towards the door, Laura hesitated momentarily, her hand hovering over the lock.

“Do you believe it?” she asked with trepidation.  
“Of course not!” Eleanor replied quickly, the certainty in her voice drawing a smile to the younger woman’s face as she opened the door.  
“You really don’t believe it?” she asked again as she looked at Eleanor’s pale and drained expression.  
“My dear,” she began, a smile of relief finally gracing her lips, “we both know that Silas is completely innocent. Now, we have to prove it.”  
“How?” Laura threw her arms out to her side in a gesture of hopelessness. “The only person who needs to be convinced is Lord Robert and he has him locked up!”  
Eleanor stepped inside, taking slow measured steps until she had reached the centre of the room. “Please, my dear, sit with me.” Patting the deep blue couch, she gracefully lowered herself onto the firm yet comfortable cushions. “Lord Robert is in a difficult position. He has to consider only the facts…”  
“But the facts are wrong!” Laura shouted in frustration as she closed the door, and locking it once more.  
“No, Laura,” Eleanor waited patiently for the young woman to approach then gently and comfortingly taking her hands. “The facts can only ever be facts.”  
“But…” Laura began, her features crumpling in desperation.  
“We simply don’t have all of them yet. The facts that we do have are that two nightmares were released into the Waking World. The signature attached to those nightmares matched Silas’s. To the best of our knowledge, signatures cannot be faked. However, I agree with you, Silas has been framed. This can only mean that there are more facts available that we haven’t discovered yet. We must find them, my dear Laura, or a very real nightmare will come true for all of us.”

Calmed by Eleanor’s smooth and soothing voice, Laura nodded before looking into the woman’s eyes.

“I’ll do anything for him,” she replied with a determined voice; all trace of fear and doubt suddenly gone.  
“I know,” Eleanor smiled proudly. “I want you, very gently, to locate Patrick. I think we need his help. I just hope he agrees.”  
“What do you have in mind?” Laura asked with a puzzled frown.  
“No nightmares have been released since Silas was taken into custody. We can only assume that, somehow, whoever is doing this knows his whereabouts. My suspicion is that if we were to release Silas, another nightmare would escape.”  
“You mean, you think it’s someone at court?”  
“I’m afraid it seems likely,” Eleanor clasped her hands in a desperate mixture of frustration and concern. “Either directly or by informing a third party. We can trust no one.”  
“So,” a smile of realisation moved slowly across Laura’s face. “You want to give them an opportunity to slip up?”  
“Indeed!” Eleanor beamed. “If we can convince Patrick to help, and get him here in absolute secrecy, he can pose as Silas.”  
“And if another nightmare is released, then we have our proof!” Laura replied, elated, but keeping her voice low, for fear of being overheard beyond the suite’s doors, despite being ensconced in a private inner chamber.  
“That’s right, my dear. I’m certain that it will work. But the quicker we act, the better.”  
“Aren’t you…? If we can’t trust anyone, aren’t you concerned that someone may have heard us talking? I know we’re not near the corridor, but…” Laura looked around nervously as if searching for something.  
“My dear,” Eleanor began, taking the young woman’s hands in hers. “There is one person beyond the immediate family that I know we can trust, and that person is Master Spyvie. He informs me that he has for some time now performed a twice daily sweep for electronic devices in the palace. There are none in this area and the transmissions for those remaining are being intercepted and selectively altered.”  
“There really is tap-ware in the palace?” Laura asked, hardly able to believe it. “I asked, I know, but I didn’t think…”  
“My dearest, Laura,” Eleanor sighed. “You have much to learn about ruling. Should the worst happen and that burden ever fall to you, you need to be prepared. An efficient and trustworthy spymaster network is not just desirable, but essential. They are our lifeline. Without them, this house would have crumbled a long time ago. But enough of that,” she continued, forcing a smile. “We have a loved one to help.”

*

Patrick had a headache. It had come on quite suddenly and was severe enough to make him want to lie down and simply close his eyes but he simply didn’t have that luxury. Driving on the interstate was not something you could easily take a break from. He knew the last rest stop was only minutes behind him and it could be an hour or more to the next one. Shaking his head gently, his eyesight beginning to blur, he knew he had no choice but to pull over. He didn’t suffer from migraines as a rule, but, he figured, there was a first time for everything. Bringing his car to a halt at the side of the busy multi-lane highway, Patrick leaned forward and rested his head and hands on the steering wheel.

Frowning with irritation at the sound of tapping on the window, Patrick sighed. How unlucky was he to have attracted the attention of a passing police officer already? But despite knowing that he shouldn’t have stopped, it was impossible for him to continue safely. He had his reasons and his argument ready as he slowly looked up.

“Oh!” he gasped as he stared up at Lady Eleanor peering in at the side of the car.

Suddenly, he realised that his headache was gone and with that realisation, he knew its cause. Releasing the seatbelt, Patrick stepped out into the warm sunshine.

“Your majesty,” he nodded respectfully, “and Laura,” he smiled at the locator standing only a few feet back. “What’s wrong?”  
“Patrick, it’s Silas,” Eleanor took a sudden deep breath as though trying to calm herself. “We need your help. Will you come? In absolute secrecy?”  
“But I’m on my way to…”  
“Please!” Laura begged, stepping forward. “Please, Patrick. It’s an emergency.”  
“What could possibly have happened in a day?” Patrick shook his head in disbelief.  
“A day?” Eleanor turned a puzzled glance toward the singer. “But it’s been months since you left.”  
“Oh no!” Patrick shook his head again and waved his hands dismissively. “I had all this with Marcus, all this garbage about time going faster in Carousel.”  
“Marcus? When? Is he here?” Eleanor asked, clearly confused.  
“No,” Patrick frowned; Eleanor wasn’t Marcus - she didn’t lie, or did she? “Are you seriously telling me its been months since we left?”  
“Of course,” Eleanor replied growing increasingly confused.  
“Patrick,” Laura placed a hand on his arm, “Silas and I have had our honeymoon and begun our Introduction Tour. It’s been months.”  
“It’s been a day here,” Patrick insisted.  
“Either way,” Eleanor dismissed the confusion. “We need your help. Will you return with us in the strictest secrecy?”  
“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” Patrick replied, now deeply concerned by their pale and worried expressions.  
“Silas has been arrested,” Laura explained.  
“What?” Patrick’s eyes widened at the news. “What for? Did he…”  
“He’s been framed,” Eleanor confirmed without hesitation. “But we need to find by whom and we need you to help us. Will you? Please?”

Hesitating only for a few seconds, the pause drew looks of desperation to the two women’s faces. It was unbearable.

“Of course,” Patrick nodded. “But I have to…”  
“No, I’m sorry, no one must know. Not in this world or ours.”  
“No, I really do have to…”

Patrick ended the sentence abruptly as he found himself standing in Silas and Laura’s bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Patrick, but it is imperative that no one knows you’re here,” Eleanor turned apologetic eyes towards him.  
“And now I know where Marcus gets it from,” Patrick sighed.  
“I am sorry, Patrick, but please understand, I will do anything to save my son’s life.”  
“It’s that bad?” Patrick gasped.  
“I’m afraid it is, now please do not leave this room. We must first arrange for Silas’s release and place him in secure hiding behind a maktval.”  
“You want me to pretend to be him?”  
“Yes.”  
“You realise I can’t actually do anything he does?”  
“And that, my dear Patrick will be the downfall of those who would frame him.”  
“Ah, I see. Okay, just don’t expect me to work at the hospital or a lot of sick people will get sicker!”  
“The press release issued said that we had returned from tour because I was ill,” Laura explained. “Now I’m well again, we can continue.”  
“What was he supposed to have done?” Patrick queried.  
“Brought nightmares into the Waking World,” Eleanor replied in a grave tone.  
“No way,” Patrick agreed. “No problem. Let’s clear his name.”  
Throwing her arms around the singer, Laura squeezed him elatedly. “I knew you’d help! Thank you! Thank you!”  
“Thank you, Patrick,” Eleanor smiled, taking his hand. “What this House owes you is immeasurable.”


	3. Briefing Patrick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus returns from the past and Joshua and Eleanor do what they can to prove Silas’s innocence with Patrick’s help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovely readers! I’m so sorry that this has been neglected. The first two chapters were quite long and I realise that this may not be possible going forward as that’s quite a time commitment in one go (I pretty much need to write an entire chapter in one or two sittings and I can’t for really long ones). So, if you don’t mind, I’m posting half length chapters and hopefully should be able to keep this up on a reasonably regular basis (uni permitting). 
> 
> Hope that’s okay :)
> 
> Thank you so much for your continued support and encouragement. It really does mean a lot to me and I hope I don’t let you down!
> 
> Sas xx

Joshua heard her approaching long before she turned into the corridor. There was something about the click of her spiked heels on the stone floor that immediately gave away her identity and, in this case, also her mood. Volatile under the best of circumstances, Spicy, as she continued to insist upon being called, was in a particularly bad mood as she rounded the corner and almost collided with Lord Joshua.

"My Lady Olivia," Joshua raised his palms defensively as she pulled up short of actually crashing into him.   
"Majesty," she responded through gritted teeth, trying hard to suppress her anger.   
"I know you hate that," Joshua continued with a smile that bordered on a smirk.

Spicy exhaled almost in an expression of exhaustion, pushing her hair back from her face as a long gentle wave of auburn fell across her cheek.

"I apologise, My Lord." She took a deep settling breath. "I... I have things on my mind. I hope I didn't hurt you."  
"Not at all, but how many times must I remind you? You only need to call me Majesty on ceremonial occasions. I'm almost your father-in-law, you should call me Joshua."  
"Yes, sir," Spicy sighed at her failure to respond correctly once more. "It just seems so..."  
"You'll get used to it, and as an incentive, if you stop calling me Majesty and My Lord, I'll stop calling you My Lady Olivia," Joshua laughed. "Deal?"

Spicy smiled, calming quickly, surprised to find the extent to which her shoulders dropped as she relaxed. 

"Deal."  
"Good. You know, even Donnie's finally dropped the formality, which I honestly believed would never happen.” He smiled reflectively. “Now then, what brings you racing out of The Guard House at such a pace?"  
"I...” she looked down, ashamed to speak the words. “I've been suspended," she replied quietly.  
"You've been suspended?" He asked a surprised look on his face. "Already? My word, Robert doesn't waste time, does he?"  
"Waste time?" Spicy's head snapped up. "Why? What did I do wrong?"  
"You did nothing wrong, Spicy," Joshua turned a confused expression towards her. "Did Lord Robert not explain the situation?"  
"No," she shook her head. "He just told me that I was temporarily suspended. I assumed that either I did something wrong and I would be court-martialled or maybe Marcus..."  
"For once," he interrupted, raising a hand to indicate that she need not continue to consider the possibility that this was as a result of his interference, "this is not Marcus's doing. But I am very surprised he gave you no information. You are family, you have a right to know."  
"What's happening? Is everyone all right?" She asked, realising even as she posed the question that it was clear that something must be very wrong and that somehow it affected her.  
"No," Joshua sighed. "We can't discuss it out here. Please, come back with me to see Robert, but please don't argue the case for resuming your position.” Joshua raised a hand to stop Spicy as she opened her mouth to object. “Trust me, I'll explain why later."

 

*

Donnie's eyes narrowed and he paused in his tracks as he caught sight of the curious glow emanating from the entrance to The Dream World. Heading towards it once more, he picked up his pace as he noticed the pulsating low hum and the hazy shimmer that seemed to fill the tunnel mouth. In the centre he could see a shape, a figure moving in and out of focus, its form sometimes recognisable and moments later a mere blur. As he neared, Donnie's eyes widened as he recognised the shape.

"Marcus!" He yelled, shocked at the sight of the swirling, pulsating mist surrounding, even smothering the sandman. 

His fear heightened all the more at the lack of response and even before he was aware of it he had broken into a run.

Grabbing the sandman's arm, he suddenly became aware of what seemed a thousand voices screaming and moaning within the mist and grey shapes appeared to reach for him out of nowhere. Pulling back instinctively, his fingers curled tightly around his friend's arm, he found himself falling backwards as if Marcus was suddenly and unexpectedly released from some invisible hold and the pair fell, both with a yelp of surprise, to the ground.

"Marcus!” Donnie cried in alarm. “What's going on? What is that?"  
"Wh... What? Where...? How did I get back here?" Marcus stammered, momentarily confused by his surroundings.  
"Back here? Where do you think you've been?" Donnie turned a confused expression toward the bewildered sandman before looking up once more at the glowing, swirling mist that seemed to be slowly heading in their direction. "Marcus, put up a maktval," he gasped, standing and helping Marcus to his feet. "Hold that back!"  
"What is it?" Marcus’s eyes widened and he stepped backwards as he saw the grey, swirling, groaning mass as if for the first time.  
"I don't know, but we can't let it out into The Hills, whatever it is."

Marcus raised his hand hesitantly; the last time he tried to use his powers nothing had happened. This time, however, they did not fail him. Equipped with a great many security measures, the tunnel connecting The Dream World to The Hills was fitted with multiple maktvals along its length and it was a simple matter for the semi-recovered sandman to initiate the first defensive wall. Watching as the mist seemed to darken and curl back on itself away from the pulsating wall of energy, both men heaved a brief sigh of relief.

"Do you think it'll hold?" Donnie frowned, unconvinced.  
"Let's put the others up too," Marcus nodded, equally sceptical.   
"It looks like... Do you remember when Silas destroyed Mr Crab's brother with Unreality?"  
"No," he frowned, "I was dead at the time."  
"Oh, yeah, that's right," Donnie nodded thoughtfully. "The lights and shapes... It's exactly what it looked like. Can it be Unreality though? How could that have happened?"  
"Could the dome over The Dream World be cracked?" Marcus mused before turning quickly and taking Donnie's arm. "Could this be how the nightmare escaped?"  
"That would mean this wasn't isolated," Donnie shook his head. "Wouldn't we have heard about this happening?"  
Marcus's shoulders sagged. "I guess so. I just don't want it to be Silas."  
"I'm sure it isn't, Marcus," Donnie patted his friend's shoulders comfortingly.   
"Thanks, Don. Come on, lets get the other maktvals up and the gate down. I don't want anyone going in there as well as anything coming out!" Marcus turned on his heels and led the way swiftly down the tunnel towards The Hills.  
“Hey!” Donnie called catching up to the sandman. "What did you mean before when you said 'How did I get back here?'"

Staring momentarily at the catcher, Marcus couldn't help but wonder how to phrase his response. Had he imagined it? Had Unreality somehow made him visualise it? But it had felt too real to be imagined. Could it be possible that he had actually been taken back in time? If so, what had happened to Edgar? What about his grandmother The Lady Madeleine, supposedly having died in childbirth but in fact leading the Resistance? There were so many questions. There was only one way to know; he had to speak to his father. It was a conversation he was honestly not looking forward to. He believed there was somehow a connection between what had just happened to him and what had happened to Silas - or rather, what Silas was being blamed for. The Dream World, his beloved Dream World was bursting at the seams with what looked like Unreality. How had it happened? How was it even possible? And crucially, how could what he had witnessed in the past - if indeed it was even real - possibly relate to what was happening? An unnerving thought crossed his mind; what if he needed to see more? Would he be allowed to go back? To enter Unreality? Was it safe? He recalled that when Silas had entered Unreality, he had discorporated when he emerged. That hadn’t happened to him, but why? Was he not immersed in it long enough? Was it because he was only partially within it? Or, was there another, even more unnerving option - was part of him still in the past?

*

Standing in Silas and Laura’s suite, Patrick slowly turned the feathered hat in his hands. This he noted was a new hat, not the slightly scuffed one with the broken feather that Silas had once considered his lucky hat. No, this was immaculate.

"Does he always wear yellow?" Patrick asked with a hint of surprise in his tone.

Laura smiled; reminding him briefly of similar expressions that The Lady Eleanor had sent his way. 

"No," she laughed, her lips curling up, but her eyes displaying her worry and exhaustion. "It's his ceremonial colour. It represents the sun; he's the Governor of The Waking World. Like Marcus wears black for night to represent The Dream World."  
"But I've never seen either of them wear anything else."  
"Well, Marcus almost always wears black, but Silas... he actually does like to wear yellow. I think he feels comfortable in it. But of course, he wears other colours and, obviously, at the hospital he wears a blue coat most of the time."  
"Blue? Why blue?" Patrick asked, tilting his head in surprise.  
"Everyone wears a blue coat. Well, all the doctors anyway. The nurses wear cream and the orderlies green."  
"Oh!" Patrick raised a surprised eyebrow. "What about the surgeons? What do they wear?"  
"Why, blue of course," Laura frowned in confusion. "All the surgeons are doctors."  
"Ah, but not all doctors are surgeons though, are they?"  
"Yes," she began hesitantly - confused by the need to clarify such a simple statement.  
Patrick smiled and nodded. "It's different in my world."  
"Most things are," she nodded handing him a well-pressed tailcoat.  
"So, where are we going?" Patrick asked as he pulled the coat on, fastening it carefully so as not to cause any creases.  
"Back to Sefnor," she replied. "That's where our tour was interrupted. Everything has to appear as though I was simply ill and Silas hasn't been..." Laura paused; the catch in her voice clear to all.  
"We'll sort this out," Patrick said gently, taking her by the hand. "I promise you."

At first all Laura could do was stare. He looked so much like her beloved Silas and he spoke so tenderly, it was hard not to simply fall into his arms. But there was something subtly different between the two men and that difference lay in how he looked at her. If there were ever any need to distinguish between the two, one glance from Silas's loving eyes would be all it would take. 

"Thank you," she finally answered, placing her free hand over his. "You are so often our champions, but always our friends. We are indebted to you."  
"You should know, Patrick that you will be accompanied by Guardsmen, plus a special detail of the Special Forces," Eleanor began. "They will not be aware of the switch as Lord Robert is the only Guardsman aware of this regrettable situation."  
"Really?" Patrick frowned. "His guards won’t know?"  
"No, it’s extremely important that we maintain absolute secrecy. Master Spyvie has arranged a Special Guard of members of his own elite forces. He is our most trusted friend and he is aware, but no one else knows. Not even the special guard detail," she replied, nodding solemnly.  
"So it's vital that I act as Silas the whole time?"  
"Indeed, they must not suspect," Eleanor replied, relieved that Patrick understood the importance of his role.  
"What if someone needs medical attention?" Patrick frowned.  
"It's unlikely, but they would still not approach a prince unless the situation were desperate. You should be quite safe and untroubled."  
"Well then," Patrick took a deep breath. "It sounds like we're ready to go."  
“Not just yet,” Eleanor lowered her eyes. “We must await confirmation that Silas is secure behind a maktval. We must know that if another nightmare escapes that it could absolutely have nothing to do with him?”  
“What if...” Patrick began, frowning and looking to his left briefly.  
“Go on,” Eleanor encouraged gravely.  
“What if it doesn’t happen again?” He asked.  
“It has to,” her voice was small in reply. “We have to prove it’s not him.”

Patrick inhaled deeply as he considered whether to pose his next question.

“But, if one of the people who know about me being here is the person responsible...” Patrick left the sentence hanging, his point made well enough.  
“Then all is lost,” she replied bleakly.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I figure uni is finishing soon for a while, so I should have time to write this. I can't update anything like as quickly as the last ones as they were pre-written, this isn't, so please bear with me. Reviews make me happy and write faster!! :D


End file.
